For a Queen's Love: The Stories of the Royal Wives of Philip II by Jean Plaidy Page B

passed on just as the color of the eyes and the hair was passed on? Philip had his father’s yellow hair and blue eyes. Why should not Philip’s brother have inherited his grandmother’s madness?
    “What are you thinking, Ruy?”
    Ruy spoke boldly. “It might be that someone has not put a spell upon him. He might have been born with this weakness.”
    It was impossible to know what was behind the mild blue eyes, but the Prince was waiting for his friend to continue.
    “He is not strong,” went on Ruy. “There are sicknesses of the mind as well as of the body. Sometimes the body wastes away, sometimes the mind. It might have nothing to do with witchcraft.”
    “Why should my brother be born with weakness? My father is strong, is he not? My mother also is strong.”
    “Yes, but …”
    Philip knew. He had heard gossip about his grandmother. He knew now that she was not dead. He knew that there was a secret about her that was kept from him. He would not admit to Ruy that he did not know the nature of that secret.
    He tried a shot in the dark. “You think of my grandmother?”
    The shot hit its mark. Ruy bowed his head.
    Philip tried to curb his curiosity. It would not become a prince to ask questions, concerning his own family, of a subject. But now he felt the shadow of his grandmother closer to him.
    And when, a few weeks later, his brother died, it seemed closer than ever before.

THREE
    P hilip was twelve years old when his father , recently returned to Spain, broached the subject of marriage.
    “You are twelve, my son. A fair age for a prince. We must get you a wife.”
    Philip murmured his thanks. None would have guessed his apprehension. The duties of a prince were numerous. Now the burden of possessing a wife was to be added to them.
    “I have a fine match for you,” said the Emperor.
    Philip waited. There had been other matches that had come to nothing. That was how it was with the suggested matches of princes. Everything depended on politics, on war and peace. Events might throw him a lovely young girl or a woman three times his age; whichever came, he must accept her. That was part of his duty.
    So he waited in trepidation for his father’s next words.
    It was typical of the Emperor that he should produce a map of their country. Thus were brides chosen for such as Philip.
    “Now here is our country. Here is Navarre, which we conquered and added to our realm. You see how it borders on Old Castile. Now here are the Pyrenees Mountains, and on the other side of them is a continuation of Navarre, which is at the moment a dependency of France. How much more satisfactory it would be if the entire territory of Navarre belonged to Spain! But the conquest was not completed. There is a King of Navarre, as you know, living on the other side of themountains—a vassal of King Francis. Now, this King Henry of Navarre has a daughter who will one day inherit his kingdom, for he has no sons, and is unlikely to have them.”
    “She is to be my wife, Father?”
    “That is so. You do not seem pleased.”
    “I was rather surprised, Father. A daughter of such a small state to mate with Spain?”
    The Emperor laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You do well to wonder, my son. I will explain. Navarre is a small kingdom. It is not worth very much … in itself. But, Philip, it is the key to France. Give me a foothold in my enemy’s territory and I verily believe that before long we may add the kingdom of France to our Empire.”
    “I see, Father.” He was longing to ask about the girl. He tried to remember all he had ever heard of Jeanne d’Albret. He must show no eagerness, no desire to investigate the human side of this marriage. That was unimportant to Spain; therefore it must be unimportant to him.
    The Emperor said: “You are indeed fortunate. Your bride might have been an old woman. She might have been a widow. She might have been four times your age. But no! She is a young girl of twelve … your own age. She